


palimpsests

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ben Turns Back To The Light But All Is Not Necessarily Forgiven, Complicated Relationships, Future Fic, M/M, No Spoilers, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Pre-Slash, droid repair, finding common ground
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 06:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13207590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: So it was his own fault really when he—almost literally—stumbled across Ben Solo as he strode his way into the hangar bay, his boots striking the duracrete with a finality that brooked no argument. This was his place; he owned it; he’d earned it. That said, it shouldn’t have been easy to stumble over Ben; he was a large man and broad at that, but he’d managed to kneel behind a few stacked cargo containers at the exact same moment that Poe decided to round those selfsame containers and—Bweeeeip whooooooaaaaooooo.





	palimpsests

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [Jedifest December Drabbles](http://jedifest.tumblr.com/tagged/december-drabbles-2017) event for the prompt: Ben(Kylo)/Poe, droids.

Poe made it his mission to stay as far from the hangar as possible when he wasn’t on duty—a new experience for him, to be sure, but one that was better than accidentally running into Ben Solo when he wasn’t prepared for it. Everywhere else on the base, fine, he allowed himself to expect the worst, but on his home turf, he hadn’t yet learned to allow the man who had been Kylo Ren share the space. Of course, that was also the one place he always seemed to want to be, not all that surprising given his heritage, but annoying all the same.

Especially at times when Poe couldn’t help but go there. Like when he’d looked everywhere else on the base and still couldn’t find BB-8.

It used to be he’d let the droid roam about unsupervised, trusting that BB-8 wouldn’t get himself into too much trouble. As this war dragged on, though, Poe couldn’t help but get a little tetchy when he hadn’t seen his closest companion in too long. The same applied to Finn, Rey, Rose, and even General Organa. A part of him was always on the lookout for danger, expecting First Order drop ships to fall from the sky to disrupt what little peace they could carve out of the mountain they’d finally settled on after—

After…

The point was: Poe liked to keep tabs on his people. And his people included BB-8.

Sure, Poe could have commed to find out where he was. But he hadn’t. He _liked_ surveying the base, taking in all the little ways it was still the same, still peaceful, still protected against invasion, still in continuity with what came before. Even on a different planet, even after everything, there were touches that Poe recalled from D’Qar, from Mirrin Prime, from every military instillation he’d ever served on.

So it was his own fault really when he—almost literally—stumbled across Ben Solo as he strode his way into the hangar bay, his boots striking the duracrete with a finality that brooked no argument. This was his place; he owned it; he’d earned it. That said, it shouldn’t have been easy to stumble over Ben; he was a large man and broad at that, but he’d managed to kneel behind a few stacked cargo containers at the exact same moment that Poe decided to round those selfsame containers and—

_Bweeeeip whooooooaaaaooooo._

The toe of Poe’s boot didn’t strike Ben, though he wished it had once he connected the dull clanking sound he heard with the realization that he’d kicked BB-8 instead. Eyes widening, he stumbled back and pushed his hand through his hair. A lot of questions ran through his head at that moment and there wasn’t a single one of them that was likely to get him a satisfying answer. “What the hell?” he settled on, because it encompassed the vast majority of his feelings at the moment. “Seriously? You, too.”

Everyone else seemed to have less of a problem with Ben being on the base than Poe did. Even Finn, who had more reason than most to distrust his presence.

Anyway. ‘You, too,’ maybe wasn’t the most diplomatic thing he could have said, but Poe was still working on it, and chose to double down by glaring at BB-8, who rocked back and forth and bleated at Poe about how Poe should watch where he was going. He very pointedly did not dart his gaze to Ben, who already filled too much space in Poe’s peripheral vision. Somehow, Poe saw his hands twitching in his lap, pale against the dark tunic and pants he wore, and cursed himself for the acuity of his vision. It made him an excellent pilot, sure, but it could be damned uncomfortable when it wanted to be.

It wasn’t in Poe’s best interest to witness Ben’s indecisiveness, his new-found… humility up close. If that was even what he could call it. It did funny things to Poe’s insides: made him angry one minute—how nice for Ben to throw himself on the Rebellion’s mercy and walk around free for it—and even angrier the next—how dare he show himself to be more than the traitor he’d wanted them all to believe he was. Better to avoid him all together and not have to face that complicated tangle of emotions.

He so very much wanted to let it all go and accept Ben’s return as the hopeful event that it truly was. Or at least celebrate it as the practical victory it was.

Because the loss of Kylo Ren from the First Order could be measured even on the battlefield, not even Poe could deny that. There were squadrons of pilots who could legitimately say they were alive because of intel from Ben or because the First Order’s fleets were so disorganized with the various losses they’ve taken since Ben’s departure or simply because Ben could help Poe—always from afar, of course, Poe wouldn’t grace Ben’s sessions with his presence unless he had to—train them in how to counter every First Order flying technique out there.

They wouldn’t win the war because of Ben Solo’s contributions to the fight, but they were stronger for his turn away from the dark. Even Poe could acknowledge that. At least in his mind. Not that it helped him any place else.

Poe sighed and crouched down to BB-8’s level. “Not a scratch on you,” he said, running his fingers over the surface of BB-8’s chassis. The hard dips and ridges of it were so familiar to Poe that he would have known immediately if he had managed to hurt BB-8. “Still look as good as ever, bud. Sorry about the kick.” At least that much he could say was true. A tinge of pointless, directionless guilt trickled through him; he hadn’t really meant to kick BB-8.

It was at that moment that he noticed… “Where’s your scar?” His thumb rubbed over a section of BB-8’s domed head. It wasn’t really a scar, just a persistent bit of carbon scoring that neither Poe nor BB-8 had really had the time to scour away and smooth over with a layer of epoxy and the quick-drying paint they used. Since it looked cool, they’d let it be, but a part of Poe always felt a little hint of regret at not having better kept up on BB-8’s repairs of late.

Ben shifted slightly. Just enough that Poe could see a little tray at his side. This time, Poe did let himself look and noticed a scrub brush as well as an airbrush tipped with white, gleaming paint. “You probably ought to clean that nozzle before it dries,” he said, well aware of how much of a pain it could be to dislodge the specially prepped astromech paint from the airbrush pens.

“Yeah,” Ben answered, dry. “Good point.”

When Poe finally looked at him, there was a self-deprecating smiling curling at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t the worst look a guy like Ben could wear. In fact, it suited him to a far greater degree than Poe entirely wanted to accept was possible. Poe always had liked the self-aware sort, the guys who could mock themselves as easily as they mocked others; he just hadn’t thought Ben might be one of them. Kylo—and for whatever reason Poe thought of them as separate people now, had to, in a way, to make this all work for him—hadn’t exactly struck him as the sort to have a sense of humor about himself. “You’ve repaired droids before,” Poe answered. His family could get sentimental about droids, it shouldn’t have been that surprising. “Of course you have.”

Ben shrugged his shoulders and was the first to look away, a first for him in Poe’s experience. There might have been a blush forming on his cheeks, very slight, enough so that Poe couldn’t tell for certain from the shadows that fell across his face that a blush was even what it was. He hoped it wasn’t. Blushing would… be very weird. Not at all what Poe would want or expect from Ben Solo. Not at all the sort of thing that would be _intriguing_. ”It’s nothing,” Ben said, obliterating the moment—something for which Poe couldn’t be more grateful.

Before Poe could argue otherwise, BB-8 bleeped and rolled toward Ben’s leg, bumping repeatedly against his knee.

Ben cleared his throat and patted the top of BB-8’s head rather awkwardly, not bothering to look at him either. “You’re, uh, welcome, Beebee-ate.”

“Thanks, Ben,” Poe said. It was the first time he’d ever said Ben’s name out loud. Somehow, he’d always managed to avoid speaking it, settling instead for using his surname when he had to. Refusing to be self-conscious about it, he lifted his chin. If BB-8, who’d also had a bit of a grudge against Ben when he first arrived, could get over himself a bit, so could Poe. “I appreciate it, too.”

He held out his hand and Ben immediately reached back.

It was the start of something. And not the thing Poe expected, no, the arguments and fights that had always gathered themselves in the back of his throat, ready to be loosed. No, this was something else altogether.

Something that could get Poe into a whole lot of different kinds of trouble.

Poe was finding himself more okay with that kind of trouble than he’d expected. Maybe… maybe they could get to be more to one another than Poe had allowed himself to be. He would so love to let his distrust go.

“I was looking for BB-8 to get him his evening charge,” Poe explained. “You maybe want to catch some dinner, too?”

Ben’s eyes widened, but he nodded and dusted himself off, recovering from his surprise quickly enough.

This, Poe thought, might possibly be _fun_.


End file.
